


SD-Hydra

by carolinga



Category: Alias (TV), Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Crack, Crossover, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-10
Updated: 2014-04-25
Packaged: 2018-01-18 22:12:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1444714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carolinga/pseuds/carolinga
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hydra is back, and they're searching for a long-forgotten Rambaldi artifact. The remaining agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. bring in the most trustworthy Rambaldi expert they can find: Sydney Bristow. As she and Steve Rogers work together to save the world, they learn they can only trust each other...and that ignites feelings neither of them could ever have predicted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aurilly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aurilly/gifts).



> This contains references to events in Captain America: The Winter Soldier. I sincerely hope that's okay--by now, I figure most fans have already seen it. I also hope you don't mind the amount of Natasha in this fic. The Russian connection between her and Sydney is just so interesting, with so much story potential.

Sydney came to, not with a start or a jerk, but in complete, utter silence. She remained motionless, as if still unconscious—she’d been out of the spy game for years, but that much training didn’t go away overnight. And she’d been in this situation before, more than once.

Her breathing even, her eyes still closed, she tried to take stock of her surroundings without letting on she was awake. She focused first on her hands—tied behind her, probably with a zip-tie, from the feel of it—then on her feet. Her captors hadn’t used any restraints there.

Their mistake.

Her body felt sore all over, and it took her a minute to realize she was sitting, head slumped forward, chin against her chest, on a cold metal chair to which her hands must have been secured in some way. Otherwise she’d have toppled forward.

A bitter, metallic taste filled her mouth. She’d either bitten her tongue or been drugged. Maybe both.

Whoever had done this—her brain was still hazy on that fact—had made a big mistake. First in abducting her. Second in failing to adequately restrain her. And third in choosing to do this tonight of all nights.

The door creaked open. Sydney slowly raised her head. A man stared back at her, hands clasped behind his back. He was the prototypical suit—FBI, or CIA, or…

SHIELD. Suddenly, it all came back.

“My name is Agent…” He paused, a rueful look on his face, and shrugged. “My name is Coulson. We need—”

“You,” Sydney interrupted, “have made a huge mistake.”

“Have we?” he asked, his voice calm with a faint trace of amusement beneath it. “How so?”

“One, my daughter has a soccer game tonight,” she said, keeping her movements small as she worked on her restraints. “And I never miss her games.” After the childhood and parents Sydney’d had, she took particular pride in being there for every game and recital—in being the mother she’d dreamed of having.

A smile edged up one side of his mouth. “Noted. And two?” he asked.

“Two, you should have used real restraints.” With that, she pulled one arm free and flipped the chair around as she rushed forward, using its momentum to knock Coulson aside. She pulled open the door but stopped short at the sight of the petite woman with bright-red hair leaning casually against the wall, one hand on her hip.

“Going somewhere?” Natasha Romanoff asked.

~*~

**_16 Hours Ago_**

Natasha sat in the back of the lecture hall, a ball cap pulled low over her blonde wig. She’d spent three days watching the professor who stood at the front of the room—three days following her while she shopped for groceries, picked up kids from daycare, and cheered on her daughter at soccer games.

She just didn’t get it. The woman was a typical suburban mom, all dimples and apple-pie charm, and about as threatening as a kitten with a bowl of warm milk. Yet Director Fury had warned Natasha to approach with extreme caution—and not to fail this mission, whatever the cost.

Since HYDRA’s emergence from the shadows, SHIELD had been dismantled. Natasha was one of the handful of agents left, and one of the only people Fury still trusted; she didn’t need to understand what he wanted with this woman. She’d do her job without asking questions, and she’d do it well.

When the class ended, Natasha kept her face covered and waited for the other students to clear out. “Professor Vaughn?”

The woman glanced up from the bag she was packing, giving Natasha a brief flash of dimples. “Did you have questions about the lecture?”

“No. Oddly enough, Russian lit isn’t much of a problem for me. But I’m actually not one of your students. I—”

“I can’t help you with that. I’m sorry.” She slung her tote over her shoulder, tucked her hair behind her ear, and gave Natasha a sympathetic smile. “The add-drop period ended weeks ago. If your name isn’t on my class list, you’ll have to wait until next semester. Now, please excuse me. I’m running late.”

She shouldered her way past, and Natasha let her go. The staff parking lot was in a secluded area, out of the line-of-sight from surrounding buildings—the perfect spot to approach Sydney Vaughn again. And the perfect spot to employ less diplomatic tactics, if it came to that.

No way would she let Director Fury down.

~*~

Sydney walked faster, wishing she had a weapon in her black tote. She’d picked it because it looked good, not because it had any practical defense features. Hell, it’d been years since she’d thought about things like that. But she’d have killed for a Taser or some pepper spray…and a closer parking spot. Except for a student in a cap and jacket all the way at the other end of the lot, she was the only one around.

And Natasha Romanoff was somewhere behind her. Sure, she’d dressed like a college kid in jeans and a backpack, and she’d put on a wig, but there was no mistaking the woman. She’d been in the press often enough over the last few months, her face on the front of every newspaper, her testimony replayed hourly on cable news stations. It wasn’t difficult for anyone paying attention to see through that disguse. Especially since Sydney probably had that same wig tucked away in storage somewhere, a token from another life. She didn’t know why Natasha had approached her—or why she’d been following her for days—but it couldn’t be anything good.

The sound of footsteps on pavement got closer, and Sydney hit the remote to unlock her minivan. Just a few more yards, and she’d be in her car and away. That wouldn’t end things—women like Natasha didn’t give up so easily—but it would give Sydney time to think and figure out what the hell was going on. Time to make sure her kids were safe.

“Professor Vaughn,” Natasha called. And then when Sydney didn’t respond, “ _Agent Bristow._ ”

Sydney paused and slowly turned, trying to ignore the way her heart had sped up at those two little words. It’d been so long since she’d thought of herself that way—as an agent, and not a mother or teacher or wife...or ex-wife. “What do you want, Agent Romanoff?”

If that surprised Natasha, she didn’t show it. “I’m here on behalf of SHIELD.”

“The terrorist organization?” Sydney eased a step closer to her car.

That got a slight smile. “Do I look like a terrorist to you?”

“You don’t look like an assassin either, but I read your leaked file.” Another step. Almost there.

“Fair enough,” Natasha said. “SHIELD may be gone, but some of us are still fighting HYDRA. We need your help.”

A bit of the tension running through Sydney’s body eased away. A request for help—that she could deal with. “There’s nothing I can do for you. I’m sorry.” She slid behind the wheel of her car.

The engine roared to life just as Natasha called out, “Arvin Sloane.”

Sydney rolled down the window. “What did you say?”

But Natasha wasn’t paying attention. She stared, narrow-eyed, at the kid in the cap and jacket. He’d walked closer during their conversation. Sydney could almost make out his face.

“Do you know that guy?” Natasha asked, nodding toward him.

Sydney shook her head.

“Shit.” Natasha threw down her backpack and pulled out two guns, one in each hand. “Get out of here. Drive.”

Sydney floored it out of the parking space and whipped her van around, stopping right next to Natasha. “Get in.”

Natasha hesitated, but not for long. The man was moving faster now. His hat fell off and Sydney caught a glimpse of long dark hair…but then Natasha was in the car, the door slammed shut behind her, and Sydney hit the gas.

“Who is that guy?” Sydney asked, chancing a glance at her passenger as they barreled off campus and onto the main road, faster than she'd driven in years.

Natasha’s gaze, when she turned it from the rear window to Sydney, was hard and suspicious. She pointed one gun at Sydney. “He’s called the Winter Soldier. Why was he there? What does he want with you?”

“Put the gun away,” Sydney gritted out. “Why were _you_ there? Maybe he wants something from you.”

“Turn in here,” Natasha said, gesturing toward a gas station and ignoring Sydney’s question. But she did lower the gun. “I need to report this.”

“To whom?”

Natasha ignored her again. She said nothing else until Sydney parked. “Wait here.” She tucked the gun beneath her shirt at the small of her back and strode toward the gas station, keeping one eye on Sydney and the other on the road behind them. Watching for the Winter Soldier, no doubt.

They should have kept driving, put more distance between them. Especially since Natasha was taking her time in the gas station. The guy could catch up to them at any moment, and Sydney still didn’t know what the hell was going on. She filled up the gas tank and tried calling home while she waited, but no one picked up the phone.

She tried Michael’s cell phone but stopped at the feel of metal pressed against her neck.

“Who are you calling?” Natasha’s voice was deadly cold.

Before Sydney could answer, something stung her. A needle, she realized as her vision went hazy and the world shifted on its axis.

Just before she hit the ground, she heard Natasha say, “Sorry, but I’m not taking any chances.”


	2. Chapter 2

Nick Fury gazed through the one-way glass, into the room where Natasha had stashed Sydney. She couldn’t tell if he was amused or irritated. But then he was a hard person to read, even for her.

“You tied her up?” he asked.

Natasha shrugged. “It seemed like a good idea at the time."

"She's unconscious." Definitely at least a little amusement mixed in there.

"She’ll be awake any minute. And she’s only a little tied up.”

It’d been almost sixteen hours since she made the executive decision to knock Sydney out and haul her back to the safe house. She regretted nothing. With the Winter Soldier in play and the threat of HYDRA out there, lurking behind every seemingly friendly face, no one was above suspicion. Especially this woman. While waiting for Fury to arrive, she’d done her own research on Sydney Bristow Vaughn. An apple-pie suburban soccer mom, her ass. With spycraft in her blood and a close, personal connection to the KGB and worse, Sydney was more than a little lethal. And trained for duplicity.

"She needs to be a little awake. We're running out of time."

“Are you sure about this?” She joined him in front of the glass, searching for any sign that Sydney was conscious. "About her?"

“Right now? I’m not sure about much of anything,” he said, with more than a touch of bitterness.

“She’s Irina Derevko’s daughter.”

He glanced down at her. “So they say.”

How could she make him understand? “The Covenant is legendary in Russia. And Derevko? She’s the monster people use to scare other monsters.” She took a deep breath, biting back the urge to add _including me_. “I don’t like it. I approached her, and Bucky just happened to be there?”

“Maybe he was following you,” Fury suggested calmly.

Natasha shook her head. “Steve and I have been tracking him for months with no luck. If he wanted me, he could have come forward any time. No. This has something to do with her. How do you know we can trust her?”

“Marcus Dixon recommended her. And he’s one of the few people I do trust.”

“I still don’t like it,” she said, training her attention back on Sydney’s lifeless body. Or was it lifeless? Something was different about it, a subtle shift.

“I’ll take that under advisement,” he said. And then, “Send in Coulson. She’s awake. And Natasha," he added as she headed for the door, "remember, we need her."

She gave him a wry smile. "I'll take that under advisement."

~*~

Sydney stopped short at the sight of the petite woman with bright-red hair leaning casually against the wall, one hand on her hip. 

“Going somewhere?” Natasha Romanoff asked. 

The corridor was long and white, its only distinguishable characteristics three black doors set deep into the walls. One of the two in front of her must be an exit, but Natasha blocked her way.

“I’m not here to fight.” Natasha held her hands up in surrender.

“Get out of my way,” Sydney growled, her head still groggy but her body on alert.

“I can’t do that. You’re in a secure facility. There’s nowhere to run.” Natasha took a step forward, and Sydney tensed. She hadn’t fought—really fought—since leaving her old life as a spy behind, but she could feel the ability there, in her muscle memory, just waiting to be used again. “Just hear us out.”

“Why would I listen to anything you have to say? You’re holding me prisoner.”

From behind her, Coulson said, “You’re not a prisoner.” 

Sydney whirled around, keeping her body sideways so she could watch both him and Natasha.

“And by the way,” he said, “that hurt. A chair? Really?” He turned his attention to Natasha. “She was trying to check on her kids. You shouldn’t have tranqued her. And you—” he focused on Sydney, “—shouldn’t have hit me. Now can we all agree to get along?”

Slowly, Sydney willed her muscles to relax. She nodded. What choice did she have? She was outnumbered in a most likely remote location. She didn’t know the layout or what security measures were in place. She didn’t trust them as far as she could throw them, but for now she’d take Coulson at his word that she wasn’t a prisoner. She’d listen to what they wanted, and then she’d leave.

“Good.” Coulson straightened. “Steve is here for the briefing. Follow me.”

Coulson led them through one of the black doors, into a cavernous room dominated by a central table. A one-way mirror covered an entire wall, making Sydney wonder just who was on the other side. But then she stopped wondering anything and stared at the man striding toward them. He was tall and muscular—taller and more muscular than he seemed on television and in photographs. And much better looking. How was that even possible?

“Hi.” He stuck out one large, warm hand. When she took it, his grip was firm. “I’m Steve.”

“Sydney,” she said, giving him a small smile. There was something about him…in the flesh, he seemed so much more alive, his presence eclipsing everyone else. There was a deep wariness in his eyes, but behind that, she spotted an unshakable kindness that made her feel safe for the first time since Natasha had turned up in her classroom.

Coulson cleared his throat and Sydney stepped back, realizing she and Steve been staring at each other, hands clasped. “Everyone sit. We have a lot to discuss,” he said. He took the seat at the head of the table and Steve and Natasha settled on the chairs closest to him.

Sydney picked the seat next to Natasha, wishing she’d asked for at least a toothbrush. She must be a mess. She tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear and tried not to think about Steve seeing her like this…or why it mattered.

As she stared around the table, a sudden, intense nostalgia washed over her. If she closed her eyes, she could imagine it was Arvin Sloane in charge instead of Coulson, Dixon on her left and her father across the table. But she kept her eyes open. Those days were gone. Nothing would bring them back. 

“Before we get started,” Coulson said. “Steve, any sign of him?”

Steve shook his head and looked down at his hands, his jaw clenched. “I searched the entire campus. By the time I got there, he was gone.”

“We’ll find him,” Coulson said, his voice filled with sympathy. “Sydney. Your children are fine. We’ve informed their father of this…situation…and he’s taken them to a secure location. Once we’re sure it’s safe, you’ll be able to contact them.”

“Why are my kids in danger? Why am I here?”

“Arvin Sloane,” he said.

“Arvin Sloane is dead,” she replied flatly. Her father had sacrificed himself to make sure of that.

Coulson said nothing, just flipped through a file and slid a photograph across the table to her. In it, Arvin Sloane stood on a dark street in the rain, an umbrella tilted over his head. “That was taken three days ago in Taipei.”

“That’s not possible.”

“I assure you it is.” He passed her another photograph. This one showed Sloane climbing out of a brand-new towncar. “He was photographed at Taiwan Taoyuan International Airport, boarding a plane to Paris.”

Sydney leaned back, her mind reeling. How could this be? No. It had to be a trick. Someone had Photoshopped these pictures. SHIELD was trying to manipulate her. “Why should I believe you?”

“Because we believe Arvin Sloane is working with HYDRA.” Coulson paused. “What do you know about Milo Rambaldi?”

“Rambaldi? What does he have to do with this?”

Across the table, Steve shifted. “Who’s Rambaldi?”

“An…inventor,” Sydney said. She gave him a brief description of the man, leaving out most of her personal connections and any reference to the prophecy that had driven her life for so long. Even thinking about that aspect of her past made her break into a cold sweat. It was over and done with. It couldn’t hurt her anymore. It couldn’t take anything else from her. So why was that cold, sinking sensation seeping beneath her skin, into her gut? 

“This is a man who, in the 1400s, created an early prototype for a cell phone,” Coulson said. “Did you ever wonder how he was able to do that? Because I may have an answer.”

Sydney leaned forward. For so long, she’d lain awake at night, running through possibilities in her mind, trying to find a reasonable explanation for Rambaldi’s inventions and prophetic abilities. Could Coulson really know something? 

“He was a genius, yes. But he wasn’t that far ahead of everyone else…because he came from a place that already had that technology.”

“He was Asgardian,” Natasha guessed.

Coulson nodded. “He was Asgardian.”

“What does this have to do with HYDRA?” Steve asked.

“We believe HYDRA has been using Rambaldi’s inventions since at least World War 2. And now they’re after this.” He laid a diagram on the table.

As far as Sydney could tell, it was some type of remote control. “What does it do?”

“We don’t know. We do know that HYDRA wants it. And we believe they rescued Arvin Sloane because they think he’s the key to finding it.”


	3. Chapter 3

The woman across the table—Sydney, Steve reminded himself—blanched. At the first mention of Arvin Sloane, her skin had gone shock-white, and it had only gotten worse when Coulson brought up this Milo Rambaldi person. Steve had almost expected her to faint or lose it completely, but she’d remained calm and stoic, her voice hard and her eyes fierce. She was made of strong stuff. Maybe stronger stuff than he was.

He’d been searching for Bucky for months, and the fact that Natasha had spotted him yesterday…it had given Steve hope. But he’d been too late, once again, and having that hope ripped from him hurt worse than never having had it at all.

“Sydney,” Coulson was saying. “Can I call you that? We need you to go to Paris and find out what Arvin Sloane is doing there. Steve, you’ll go with her.”

“Shouldn’t I stay here to look for Bucky?” 

Coulson hesitated. “There’s something else you need to know.” He took out yet another photograph. “This was taken last month.”

Steve sucked in a breath. “Last _month_?” At first, he could only see Bucky. His best friend stood there in a jacket with the collar turned up, a blank expression on his face. Then he noticed another man, a blond. The two appeared to be together.

“Julian Sark,” Sydney said, sounding stunned. “He’s supposed to be in prison.”

“Someone broke him out right before this—” Coulson tapped the photo, “—was taken. We think it was the Winter Soldier. And we think they’re after the Rambaldi artifact. We’re not sure if they’re working with Sloane and HYDRA, but…”

Steve barely followed the conversation, lost inside his anger. A month…a month? They’d had a location on Bucky that long ago? They’d taken pictures, followed him? And never once mentioned it to Steve.

“Are you still with us, Steve?” Coulson asked. 

He held his anger in and nodded. There’d be time for anger later. And Coulson wasn’t the person who deserved the brunt of it—though he deserved a share.

“Is it possible,” Coulson said carefully, “that Sark and the Winter Soldier are working with Irina Derevko? We know her interest in Rambaldi’s—”

"No,” Sydney said, her lip trembling slightly before growing firm. “I saw her die.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time someone came back from the dead,” Steve said pointedly, glaring at Coulson. 

“True enough.”

“Not this time.” Sydney shook her head. “Trust me, she’s gone.”

“In that case, we’ll assume they’re working with HYDRA until proven otherwise,” Coulson said. “We’ve booked you and Steve on a flight—”

Sydney held up a hand. “I didn’t agree to anything. I have two conditions for being part of this. One, I want to speak to my children before going anywhere. And two, we bring in Marshall Flinkman. He’s—”

“Already here,” Coulson interrupted. He pulled out his cell phone, punched in few numbers and said, “Can you send Flinkman to the war room? Thanks.” He gave Sydney a shrug. “He’s been with SHIELD for a while. When we brought you in, we had him flown here. We figured his presence might…help smooth things over.”

“You could have tried not drugging and abducting me.”

“These are difficult times.” Coulson looked at Steve. “It isn’t always clear what’s wrong and what’s right.”

The door opened, and some of the tension faded from the room when a small, dark-haired man walked in.

“Marshall!” Sydney smiled at the newcomer, and Steve’s chest constricted. Her entire face had changed. Gone was the grief, anger, and fatigue. In its place was a pure joy that made him feel something he didn’t quite understand. He wanted her to keep smiling like that, and to smile like that at him.


End file.
